Have you ever had what I call a ‘Front Door Friend,’ someone who refuses to enter your house no matter how many times you invite them in? They’re a distant cousin to the mailman really, as their visits to your house are short and sweet and usually involve a package that they’re dropping off or picking up. They choose to chat and socialize by the front door no matter what the weather. My husband and I have one such friend whose name I’ve forgotten since I dubbed him ‘Front Door Friend,’ years ago.

So, you can imagine my surprise when one day he came over, poked his head in, looked around, pushed me out of the way, walked over to our couch and plopped down. I saw it with my own eyes and couldn’t believe it. Was he sick? Was he having a heart attack and needed to sit? Should I be calling an ambulance? What if he dies? What if he dies on my new couch? Oh great, he finally comes in, sits down and dies! He dies on my couch and now I have a dead person on my hands! How do I explain this to the cops? I have to call the cops, don’t I?

Nobody called the cops when we realized he was fine as he continued talking without clutching his chest, gasping for air or passing out. But, I wondered what bizarre behavior was next. Would he help himself to food in our fridge? Should I lock up my chocolate stash that family members know not to touch unless they want me to hurt them? Would he rummage thru our medicine cabinet looking for items of embarrassment he could then post on HIS blog? Would he done a glove and give the furniture the white glove test? Would he point out the cobwebs that have mailboxes erected in front because they’ve been there an eternity?

After he left I decided if he intends to graduate from ‘Front Door Friend’ to ‘Sit on the couch friend,’ then the least I could do is learn the guy’s name.